Balance

I like wearing a cock for the immediacy of it. I love being able to grab her when we get home and pull her against me, take her hand and hold it between my legs so she knows. I strap it on while she’s fixing her hair. It’s a secret. Just for me while we’re out at dinner. Sometimes it’s a cock small enough I barely notice it, but I like it when it’s absurdly thick and long. I love the way it grinds into my thigh. I stroke it a little while we sit at the table waiting for the check. I’m looking at her and rubbing my cock through my jeans getting off on the fact that she doesn’t know.

I have to adjust myself when I get behind the wheel. I lean over to kiss her and wince as the leather straps bite into me. I want to get her home. I want to push her towards the couch. I want to slide my hands up under her shirt and knead the muscles in her low back. Grab her hair and pull. Move and bend her onto my lap. When I’m wearing a cock, I see her bent over. I imagine my hands on my belt, working fast to unzip my jeans and hold my cock between her thighs. I feel ready. Coiled.

We go home and leave the lights off. There’s a streetlight that shines through the window along with a nearly full moon to see well enough to make drinks. She makes mine for me. I sit down and balance my drink on the arm of the couch. Careful, steady. I drag my hands across my jeans. I spread my knees wider and bring my fingers to the bulge against my inner thigh. I trace the outlines and pull on my cock. I move slowly, careful not to send my glass crashing to the floor, and pull her hand to my belt. “You’ve got to be careful,” I whisper, “Slow.”

She slides closer to me, tracing her fingers against my belly as she undoes my belt and jeans. Her hand reaches in and strokes my cock. Slowly, she edges my jeans down further until she has my cock fully free. I work at her shirt, pulling it off, and feel the lace of her bra under my fingers. She’s rubbing my cock. I can feel the pressure against my clit. My shirt sticks against my sweating back as the heat builds. I’m always like this. A furnace inside me.

I want it to stay slow like this. “Take these off,” I tell her and tug at her jeans. She steps out of them and I nod and touch her panties, pulling them lower. “These,” I say and she moves them the rest of the way down. “I want you on my cock,” I say, “slow.” She eyes the glass balanced next to me and moves carefully onto my lap. I rest my hands on her ass and watch as she pushes my cock inside her. So nice, so steady and slow, I can feel the pressure as I enter her. There’s a heaviness between us. We can hear the ice brush against the glass as she slides up and down.

I pull the straps of her bra so they hang down and peel the lace off her tits, pulling her against me. Sucking on her skin, teasing her nipple with my tongue and the sharp edges of my teeth, I breathe deeply. I am finally relaxed after feeling jacked up all day wanting her. Wanting everything. My fingers in her pussy. Her clit on my tongue. Her tongue in my mouth. My hands in her hair. Her wetness on my thigh. My body against and on top of her.

She rides me slowly and moans when I squeeze her tits as I suck. I need her to come sooner than she wants. I need her to feel cheated. Want more. I want this all night. I grab her hand and push it between her legs. I can feel her circling, her finger on her clit just above my cock. She pushes me deep inside her and pulls up slow. I want to feel her come and squeeze my cock inside her. Now. I want to feel it now and grunt with her skin in my mouth to persuade her. She can feel the desperation in my grip. I will make her come when I want.

She comes with a jerk and I feel the couch shift back against the wall. Quickly, I reach out to grab my drink before it falls. It slips a little out of my hand and half the booze spills in a sticky mess on the floor. “At least I caught the glass,” I said. “You need more,” she says and takes my glass back over to the bar. I’m staring at her ass and her strong thighs. Already feeling myself burn again. Needing to fuck.  Stay balanced. “Come back to me,” I say with a whine in my voice. She will take her time. She’ll let me strain against my impatience. By the time she gets to me, I’ll be angry and swift. Just the way she likes.

 

Make It Dirty

We fuck because we are fucked. We feel fucked over. Raw. Fucking angry. “Dirty,” she said. One word and a look. Her head tilted slightly down, her eyes looking up at me to make me feel taller. These are not conscious or practiced moments. Everything is instinct.

We had just left a party we were anxious to ditch. A work party. Mostly straight people. Bad appetizers and shitty rum drinks. No one on the dance floor. We left after wandering around and chatting with enough people to be polite. I don’t think we stayed more than half an hour. I hate small talk. I get jumpy. Thank god we didn’t have to stay longer. I never like straight parties, but right now, with the tragedy of the election, I really can’t stand to be in a room full of people like that. White, rich, entitled, and wanting to care about what’s going on but enjoying the comfortable assurance that it doesn’t really affect them. They don’t feel the damage and all the fucked up bullshit that so many of us do. I was angry walking out of there. Hurt and angry.

“Let’s go,” she said and I grabbed her arm as we headed out the door. I felt her move towards the car as we neared it but I tightened my grip and kept walking. I was heading towards the water, the graffiti, the warehouses. I walked quickly, silent, wanting to be in the dark, wanting brick and not this shiny glass and steel that surrounded us. I stopped where it was dark enough, quiet enough. We slipped between two buildings. I put her hands against the wall.

Power. Give me the power in this moment. Let me be bigger, stronger, more capable. Let me position you and shove your legs open with my knee. Let me be in control now, baby. Give it to me.

hot girl in a fuzzy coatShe’s wearing a fuzzy jacket that I like to pet with my fingers. Her hair is newly cut short, almost too short for me to grab, it slips through my fingers. I want her scalp to come alive and feel me. I pull and tug. She moans and closes her eyes. Her head falls back into my grip. I hold her still, my left arm crooked behind her back, holding her hair while my other hand pets her slowly. I start with my fingertips on her forehead and slowly drag my hand across her face, teasing her lips, scratching a bit at her neck, tracing her collar bone, sliding over and down her tits, grabbing at her belly, shifting over to her hips, her thighs, between her legs, to her ass. “Baby,” I mouth the word into her ear, barely breathing. “Make it dirty,” she tells me.

I slipped my hand under her skirt and pulled the tight fabric over her ass. I pushed her feet further apart. “Back your ass up against me,” I said and pushed my hand between her legs, “Piss on my fingers.”

I waited. I traced a finger against her lace panties, “Soak them,” I said. I felt her hot piss on my cold skin. I heard it splash against the sidewalk. Pulling her panties to the side, I let her feel my hand in the wet stream. I stood behind her, looking down at her heels, my shoes, her bare legs, my trousers, the growing puddle of piss beneath us.

I thought about how cold her cunt must feel. Wet in this cold air. I rubbed my hand inside her thighs, painting her with piss. I wanted her skin to pick up the cold air like an antenna. I wanted to feel her shudder with cold. I kissed her ass and pinched the soft, sweet flesh. Pinching the backs her thighs. Twisting her skin in my fingers until I heard her softly wince.

I pulled her wet panties down to her knees and dragged the back of my hand up inside her thigh until I felt her wet hole and shoved three fingers inside her. I fucked her hard, quickly pumping in and out of her. I bit her ass with quick little nips of my teeth. My fingers. My hands. My mouth. My teeth. That’s all I wanted her to feel of me. Feel me on your ass, your thighs, inside your hole. I wanted her to feel the piss on her legs and the cold brick building that steadied her and feel herself being fucked.

“I’m not going to make you come,” I said, “I want to watch you.” I pulled out of her and grabbed her neck with my wet fingers. “Show me how dirty you are,” I said quietly, “I’m going to hold you still like this while you touch yourself.” I watched her lift a hand off the wall and twist it at the wrist. She was cold and stiff. “Warm your fingers in you mouth,” I said and a hot desire ripped through me as I watched her suck one finger and then another. Slowly. Teasing me. Showing me. My mouth was open. Wanting to taste her. “Do it, baby,” I said, trying to sound demanding but knowing it came out like a plea.

With her fingers warmed, she started to jerk off. I kept my hand on her neck and pushed against her ass. She came before I was ready, before I wanted it to end. “Again,” I said and she nodded. “Again,” she said.

She came two more times before we stepped back to the sidewalk. I pulled her piss soaked panties all the way off before we walked away and carried them hanging from my fingers. They were gone by the time we got to the car. I’d dropped them somewhere and hadn’t noticed with my cold, stiff fingers. “Your panties are gone,” I said, opening the door for her. She just smiled at me. Pleased.

She held her hand on my thigh while I drove us home, petting me. I love the dreamy feeling that comes. We held that dream the whole drive. Held it when we got inside. “Come to bed dirty,” I said. She undressed and climbed under the covers with me. It was a good feeling.

Pretty

Sticky hot night in Oakland

It’s sticky hot in Oakland tonight but I’m remembering colder weather. A thick fog rolling in over the hills and wet, grey air calling us out onto the deck just before dusk. We’re enveloped in it. A cloud cover all our own. Relieved to be hidden from the nagging neighbors and their constant annoyance at our late night drinks with friends and loud laughter.

My hands reach around her as soon as we’re on the deck. I find her buttons and pull, one by one, slipping them out of their tight little button holes, finding her belly under the stiff cotton of her shirt. Not satisfied, not stopping, my fingers slide into her jeans and one hand moves between her shoulder blades. I bend her towards the deck railing. “Grab it,” I say and her arms steady herself against the wet wood.

I shove my hand between her legs, leaving her soft panties between my fingers and her pussy. I feel the stiff pricking of her short, trimmed pubic hair through the satin.

Holding her like this, seeing her bent over in front of me, my pants get tight. I shove myself up against her ass. I grab at her tits through her bra, pulling and twisting the fabric out of my way. I grab her with rough hands. Squeeze her between my fingers. I rub my hand against her panties until her pussy and my fingers are wet.

“Breathe,” I say out loud. This is for me. For me to remember to breathe and not suck it all in and hold tight and pass out. I have to be reminded to let go or I stay tight. Sucked in. Stiff. Red faced. I’m a balloon about to pop. I have to remember to vibrate and bend just enough to relax into this.

“Let me fuck you,” I say into the back of her neck. My hands undo her jeans and roll them down her thighs. I feel how strong she is and the contrast of thick muscle against her soft skin. I rub the backs of her thighs and slap her ass as I move my hands up and down, up and down. Slap. “Let me fuck you,” I say without needing to. She always lets me fuck her. She tells me all the time. She says, “Do whatever you want.” She taunts me with it when I’m lazy, “You know you can fuck me whenever you want, right?,” she says, “How does that feel?”

“Let me fuck you,” I say a third time and slap her ass hard. “Do it already,” she cries. My fingers are inside her before she shuts up. “Fuck you,” I say, “You act like you don’t care.” I wrap one arm around her to hold on while I slam my fingers inside her as hard as I can and I keep right on talking. “You act like a whore, never caring what I do to you. Like you can take it or leave it. Like you can get it anywhere, anytime you want.” I stop for a moment. Her breathing is hard and I can feel her legs shake, maybe from the cold, maybe the rush of a quick, angry fuck.

I twist and feel myself inside her. Let it build. Build to a strong, hard fuck. “It’s true. You can, baby. You can get it anytime you want. You can get it from anyone. You can throw your legs open and let them fuck you. Drunk. Stumbling to the bedroom. Stumbling to get on top of you. Fumbling with their almost hard dicks in their hands. You can get them with that flash of your ass or your tits. They can smell your pussy from across the bar, right? Did they see you bend over to pick up the dropped quarters before you put your money in the jukebox?”

I shove myself inside her hard. Harder than before but slower, with more intent and a steady rhythm. “You can get it, baby. Anytime. You can have that. But it’s not what you want.” Slower. “I know you, baby.” My thumb brushes against her clit.  “You like it pretty.” I press my lips against her back. “You like it pretty and you hate yourself for it.” I kiss her back. “You move your hips against me and I know how good you feel.” I hold her tight. My fingers inside her and my thumb rubbing her clit. We’re so wet between us. I can feel our sweat and the chill of the fog all around us. She pushes against my fingers. I hold her and let her ride against my hand.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” I whisper and her moan rises up from low in her belly. “Be quiet, baby,” I hush. She rides. We are twisted together. I hold on tight and whisper sweet things to her. “Come for me,” I sigh, “You’re my girl.”

She shudders so sweetly.

My girl.

I can do whatever I want to her. She let’s me fuck her.

Fortune Teller

“It’s hot as fuck,” she whined. The windows were thrown open wide and the fans rattled on high but there was no relief. Hot air blew over the bed like an insult. The damn heat pissed us off. Ice melted in the glass before I could walk from the kitchen to the bedroom with a cold glass of water. Everything felt wrong, but I’d missed her too much all week to hold back.

I’d been alone the night before and fell asleep before she made it home around 2am. She was up and gone again at dawn. I’d wanted to fuck her as soon as she got home this afternoon but the heat was too much. Too sticky.

We read in bed together, not talking, trying to enjoy the calm. One or the other would get up for more water. I couldn’t relax next to her. She was stripped down to her bra and panties, lying there on her belly. Every page she turned distracted me. She kicked her feet up behind her and I’d stare at the backs of her thighs, her calves. Damn, this girl. She always turned me on. No matter what was going on, I wanted her.

I wanted to fuck. I was angry. I was hot and tired. She was oblivious and way too sexy.

I tried to be still. I tried to read but kept going back over the same sentence again and again. There were her feet, kicking. There was her belly as she rolled over and out of bed for another glass of water. “You’re mine,” I whispered as she crawled back into bed. “Always,” she replied and rolled her eyes. Her smart mouth. Her attitude. It was hard to tell when she was serious. She could be a brat and I fell for it every time. Hard.

“It’s too hot to fuck,” I said. She didn’t bother with a reply, just turned another page and sighed. This is what gets me. I cannot stand being ignored. I can’t stand the desire rising up in me with nowhere to go. She loves this. She watches it build. Some nights she can’t wait for my anger and prompts me. “Use me, baby,” she’ll say, “do anything you want.” Tonight I bit.

“You’re mine,” I said and crawled over her. I felt the sweat on my thighs as I straddled her ass. I grabbed her hair in one fist and jammed my other hand between my legs. “You know what I like,” she said. Her mouth stayed open. I watched her lower lip quiver. I shoved her head harder against the mattress. “Fuck you,” I managed, intending a stream of insults to follow, but I was going to come too fast. She knew it and laughed. “Fuck you,” I said and curled over her like a fortune telling fish.

She laughed louder now. Laughed harder as I smashed against her. Laughed at my struggle to shove her further beneath me while I jerked off. Passion is passion. Anger, love, jealousy. Everything was mixed together in this moment, but it was jealousy I felt most. The jealousy rushing through me wasn’t angry. I wasn’t nursing a wound or some slight. It wasn’t the thought that she wanted someone else. I felt jealous of her easy way. The book she held. Her ability to turn away from me and think of something else for even a moment. I was consumed. I wanted her always. Now. In this heat. Always.

I heard myself scream before I felt the pleasure of it. Coming. Coming on top of her. Holding her down. Wrapped around her. Her lazy laugh floating in the room. “Oh baby,” she sighed. It took me losing all control for her to give me that glimpse of herself, her sweetness, her relief in seeing me exposed.

I fell asleep after that and slept for hours, a deep sleep I hadn’t felt all through the long, hot summer. “You’re mine,” I said when I opened my eyes. The room was pitch black. I felt for her next to me. “Mine,” I said and grabbed her. She rolled over and pet my face. “I’m all yours,” she said, “Tell me what you want.”